twitching in the sheets— to face the sunlight again, that’s clearly trouble. I like the city better when the

Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;

Not much happened during the rest of her stay. We drank, we ate, we fucked. There were no arguments. We took long drives down along the shore, ate at seafood cafes. I didn’t bother with...

bluebird there’s a bluebird in my heart tha… wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, say, stay in there, I’m not going

I went with two ladies down to Venice to look for antique furniture. I parked in back of the store and went in with them.

we have everything and we have not… and some men do it in churches and some men do it by tearing butt… in half and some men do it in Palm Spring…

there are these small cliffs above the sea and it is night, late night; I have been unable to sleep, and with my car above me

I met her somehow through correspo… and she began sending me very sexy… and this being mixed in with a min… confused me somewhat and I got in… through the mountains and valleys…

they photograph you on your porch and on your couch and standing in the courtyard or leaning against your car these photographers

they’re not going to let you sit at a front table at some cafe in Europe in the mid-afternoon sun. you do, somebody’s going to

So gramps wrote Joyce a big check and there we were. We rented a little house up on a hill, and then Joyce got this stupid moralistic thing. “We both ought to get jobs,” Joyce said, “to...

live alone in a small room and read the newspapers and sleep alone in the dark dreaming of crowds.